A Quote by Molly Ringwald

I think once you're a mother, you kind of always see your kids as a baby anyway no matter how old they get. — © Molly Ringwald
I think once you're a mother, you kind of always see your kids as a baby anyway no matter how old they get.
Every relationship has at least one really good day. What I mean is, no matter how sour things go, there's always that day. That day is always in your possession. That's the day you remember. You get old and you think: well, at least I had that day. It happened once. You think all the variables might just line up again. But they don't. Not always. I once talked to a woman who said, "Yeah, that's the day we had an angel around.
It's like being at the kids' table at Thanksgiving - you can put your elbows on it, you don't have to talk politics... no matter how old I get, there's always a part of me that's sitting there.
If your kids see what you eat, they will probably eat it, too. I'm not going to use the old-school policy of what my mother did and say to my kids, 'Well, if you are hungry enough, you will eat what I put on the table!' I think my kids have an understanding that if they see what their parents do, they should follow, too.
I think old school TV shows helped in raising your kids and helped in the way things should be done. Now you just see kids disrespecting their parents, you see kids cursing and all kind of things that shouldn't be done.
No matter how old you get, hug and kiss your mother whenever you greet her.
When I see four young kids in a band, I think, That looks really fun, no matter how shitty they are. You develop your own thing, and get excited about your band name. It's all so harmless.
At 36, I think I was pretty happy [actually], but here's the thing that I think happens... you're expected to be somewhere at 36, and there's that feeling: At this particular age - especially for women for God's sake - you should have this many kids, you should have a husband, or you should have this... and it's overwhelming. So that perpetuates the feeling that no matter where you are, no matter how much money you have, no matter how many kids you have, no matter how great they're doing, whether you want kids or not, married or not, it doesn't matter - you feel behind.
It's like a mother, when the baby is crying, she picks up the baby and she holds the baby tenderly in her arms. Your pain, your anxiety is your baby. You have to take care of it. You have to go back to yourself, to recognize the suffering in you, embrace the suffering, and you get a relief.
Instead of having a baby, why dont you get a tattoo of a baby first, and see how that works out for six months to a year, and then see if you're ready to have a baby.
When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.
Other people--grandparents, sisters and brothers, the mother's best friend, the next-door neighbor--get to be familiar to the baby. If the mother communicates her trust in these people, the baby will regard them as delicious novelties. Anybody the mother trusts whom the baby sees often enough partakes a bit of the presence of the mother.
When your mother asks, 'Do you want a piece of advice?' it is a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway.
How do you make your kids read more? It needs to be presented as a joy and a privilege to get to do it, and the kids should get to see you as a parent reading for your own pleasure. It's not something you send your kids off to do, 'Go into your room and read for 15 minutes or else.' It becomes a task then.
I think once you get it in your head, that you're not going to do anything bigger, you just do things that you enjoy, which has always been my ethos anyway.
I think of the chimp, the one with the talking hands. In the course of the experiment, that chimp had a baby. Imagine how her trainers must have thrilled when the mother, without prompting, began to sign her newborn. Baby, drink milk. Baby, play ball. And when the baby died, the mother stood over the body, her wrinkled hands moving with animal grace, forming again and again the words: Baby, come hug, Baby come hug, fluent now in the language of grief.
I think that no matter how old you get, you are always learning about yourself.
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